


the ties that bind

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones (Movies), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Clothing Kink, F/M, Oral Sex, Sexy Times, Shameless Smut, Smut, Tie Kink, don't call it a comeback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 03:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16824289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Bridget's been incorrigible. Mark knows the best punishment.





	the ties that bind

**Author's Note:**

> i'm baaaaack. no idea how this came to be. i have like, 3 WIP's that i should've been working on. instead i cranked this out & it's the most i've written in months, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ takes place somewhere between BJD & EOR.

Really, Bridget should have anticipated being in this position after hearing Mark’s exasperated huff on the phone. There was something telling in the way he had answered after she told him that she had lost the key to his house. His tight-lipped, steely-eyed gaze when he met her on his front stoop was even worse. A thorough reprimanding was inevitable.

“Bridget,” he said sternly, pacing a path into the rug. “What  _ am _ I going to do with you?”

She squirmed uncomfortably, cursing herself for not expecting this.

Mark now loomed at the end of the bed. He had discarded his suit jacket on the chair of his desk, and the width of his chest pulled against the fabric of his shirt as he started to undo his tie. Bridget watched him closely as he loosened the Windsor knot around his neck. He held her gaze, not saying a word.

Without breaking eye contact, he pulled the tie from around his neck and held it in his hand. As if in slow motion, he started to kneel onto the edge of the bed. Her throat felt dry as she watched him approach. His eyes weren’t angry...they were smoldering.

“You’ve been incorrigible,” he growled, straddling her thighs. 

_ Oh. _

His proximity forced Bridget to lean back among the pillows at the head of the bed. Gently, Mark grabbed both of her wrists and pulled them above her head. Bridget watched him with wide eyes as he busily wrapped her wrists with the blue silk he had taken from around his neck. She didn’t even have words to protest as he securely tied the silk to the headboard, her arms now taut above her head.

“The toothpaste in the sink I can forgive,” he went on, punctuating the sentence with a feather light kiss against her neck. Bridget groaned at the contact. “I can even tolerate the thousands of water glasses you leave around the house.” He bit down on her earlobe, just enough to elicit a sharp intake of breath. “This, though, needs proper reprimanding.” He dragged the flat of his tongue along the hollow of her neck. Bridget involuntarily bucked her hips up towards his. 

“Ah, ah,” Mark chided, firmly grasping her hips in his hands. “You have a lesson to learn.” 

At this, he hooked his thumbs underneath the corduroy of her skirt and yanked it off of her hips. She watched as he tossed it across the room, amazed at how careless he was being as it landed atop his suit jacket. She then felt the blunt edges of his nails against her skin as he proceeded to pull her tights off. There was the faintest sound of the nylon ripping, but she couldn’t be arsed to care. 

Bridget watched as Mark hovered over her, hyper aware of the silk tie biting into her wrists. She wanted to pop all of the buttons off of his shirt and scrape her fingernails along his chest, tug on his hair, drag his face down to hers and kiss the breath out of him. Without realizing, she pulled against the tie again, feeling it tighten against her skin.

“Mark,” she panted. “Untie me.”

He hummed a note of protest against her collarbone. She shuddered.

“ _ Mark. _ Untie me.”

“I can’t.” He bit down on her collarbone. She hissed.

“Why not?”

“Because you haven’t learned your lesson yet.”

Before Bridget had a chance to protest, Mark was lifting the hem of her jumper to trail kisses down her abdomen. 

“Mark,” she choked out. It was useless, though, because his mouth was now ridiculously close to her hip bone and his hands were cupping her arse cheeks and all coherent thoughts were fleeing from her brain at rapid speed.

Bridget let out a breathy laugh, amazed at the situation she now found herself in, but it was quickly snuffed out as Mark’s mouth covered the bundle of nerves that were now throbbing with want. 

“Oh,  _ fuck,” _ she gasped, writhing underneath the heat of his tongue. Mark pressed his fingers into the flesh of her hips, holding her against his mouth as he gently kissed and licked.

It was no secret that Mark’s mouth was a force to be reckoned with. He had taken down regimes and war criminals with brilliant defenses and cutting oppositions. He was eloquent at his best, and endearing at his worst. Even now, though, Bridget underestimated just how talented his mouth could be.

The velvet of his tongue was whisper light against her sex. Her nerve endings were on fire, and his breath was fanning the flames. She wanted to rip her hands from the headboard and twine her fingers into his hair, push his mouth against her, feel the flat of his tongue against her clit. She arched with frustrating inadequacy. 

“Mark,” she panted, desperately trying to make more contact with his mouth, his tongue, his chin. “ _ Please _ untie me.” She looked down the length of her body to see him smirking at her. She could feel his fingers gently running between her folds, barely dipping in to the sweet spot that was begging to be touched. 

Instead of answering, Mark placed a kiss against the apex of her thighs, his tongue barely darting out to swirl around the nub of nerves. Her whole body was alight with electricity.

As he laved against her with his tongue, he slowly began to penetrate her with his finger. Bridget could feel the cool fabric of his white button down against the back of her thighs, the heat of his skin pulsing through his shirt as she dug her heels into his back.  _ More, more, more. _ The sounds she was making were inhuman.

Mark hummed against her, sending a shot of lust straight through her body. His fingers were now dipping into her, gently running between her folds, whispering back down, repeating the process. It was glorious torture. The silk of his tie was biting into her wrists as she twisted and turned. She could feel the muscles in her arms aching as she inched lower and lower towards his mouth. At this rate, she was going to pull an arm out of its socket.

Bridget let out a moan that could be heard three doors down, and it finally seemed to snap Mark’s reserve. The gentle caresses he had been torturing her with suddenly became stronger. He was no longer just using the tip of his tongue against her, but now the whole flat of it, greedily bringing her to climax. She could feel his fingers pumping into her, curling just-so. She moaned again, arching her back, digging her feet into the mattress, doing anything to bring his mouth closer to her. 

Mark was now desperately grasping onto her hip with his free hand, his eyes closed in ecstasy as he pleasured her. She could see the top of his head when she looked down towards him. A rush of emotions flooded her chest at the sight of him being so attentive to her, even with the memory of his torturous ministrations still fresh in her mind. It was enough to break a woman.

She was perilously close to climaxing, riding along the edge of absolute bliss. The tie was probably ruined at this point. She didn’t care. Mark clearly didn’t either. 

With a seasoned twist of his hand and a gut wrenching flick of his tongue, Bridget fell apart around him. She yelped his name as her orgasm knocked the wind out of her. He continued to kiss her, gently bringing her down from the highest of highs. Her limbs were gelatin, her brain static fuzz.

The next thing she knew, Mark’s warm weight was on top of her. He was once again straddling her hips, leaning over her to loosen the tie that had kept her anchored to the headboard. He was looking down at her with a look of absolute triumph. Bridget narrowed her eyes at him as she felt the fabric finally fall away from her wrists.

“Let that be a lesson to you, darling,” he said, throwing the tie off to the side of the bed.

Bridget didn’t respond. Instead, she catapulted herself towards him, knocking him backwards and pinning him to the mattress. She cradled his face in her hands, relishing the feeling of his stubble against her palms as she kissed him thoroughly. The taste of her was still on his lips. She dragged her nails through the soft curls on his head, eliciting a delicious groan from him. 

“Mark Darcy,” she breathed, “I will lose your house key every single day of the year if that’s the kind of punishment you have in store for me.”

He laughed at this. Bridget looked at him--laugh lines bracketing his eyes and kiss-swollen lips--and felt her chest tighten. She kissed him again, softly, cradling his face in her hands, toying with the edges of his sideburns. He kissed her back. 

Yes, Mark Darcy was very clever with his mouth. 

But so was Bridget.


End file.
